atehimrightup | (no subject)

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This is the longest that Lee has ever gone without Eating. He isn't sure why he's doing this to himself. Well, that's a lie. He knows damn well why, and he also knows, deep down, that it's futile.

He hasn't seen George in two days, told him he wasn't feeling well and needed some time to himself. Which is true, he supposes. He wants so badly to never have to lie to George, and there it is. That's the reason.

Eating has always been a difficult thing, no matter how good it feels in the moment. Now the thought of luring someone into some shadowy alley and ending their life just so his can continue makes him feel sick. He can't put his hands on someone, seduce them into a false sense of security, and then go look George in the eye with their meat in his belly. He just can't.

But he can't let go of George, either. Even though that would probably be wisest. Safest. It would be what's best for George, but Lee thinks about breaking his heart and he just can't. He can't Eat, can't face George, can't leave George, can't sleep and can't think about anything other than how hungry he is. He's stuck and he has no idea what to do.

He glances at himself in the mirror in the bathroom at his nearly empty apartment, noting that he looks sallow, more gaunt than usual. His eyes are so dark that they're almost black, lips pale and chapped. His jaw aches from how much he's been grinding his teeth. His belly aches with hunger, his blood burns, his mind races.

This isn't sustainable, but he has no idea what to do. He has to Eat or bad things will happen. But Lee is the bad thing that will happen. He's always the bad thing that happens.

He lets out a frustrated snarl and slams his palm into his own reflection, splintering the mirror until he can't make out his own face anymore. His palm is sliced open when he pulls it back but his blood is dark and sluggish. Unhealthy.

He leaves the apartment so he stops pacing a track into the carpet like a caged animal, wondering if maybe fresh air will help. He puts on one of George's hoodies and feels like he's drowning in it, like his skin is stretched tight over his bones. Earlier that afternoon he ate four double cheeseburgers and it didn't even make a dent in his hunger. It isn't what he needs, and Lee is so frustrated that tears spring to his eyes.

He finds himself cutting through Petros Park in the crisp fall air, breathing in deep, but the walk doesn't help. Each step makes him feel weaker and he stops in the middle of the path to pinch the bridge of his nose, waiting out a rush of dizziness as his stomach clenches.

It's been weeks. It feels like he's going insane. It feels like he's dying.

But he thinks of George's sweet, trusting face, and he wants to keep trying.

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Lee only nods, swallowing back bile and clutching at the knife so hard that his knuckles are white. It feels like there is an ocean between them and tears keep leaking out of his eyes in a way that he can't seem to stop, but he just lets them fall as he looks around, letting his gaze sweep back and forth to try and spot something that looks like that shimmer.

George wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Lee. He was just trying to do something nice and bring Lee soup because he thought he was just a regular sort of sick, and now this. There's a quick intrusive thought that flashes through his mind, him shoving the knife into his own chest, and the only real thing that stops him is the knowledge that he can't leave George here alone. He has to make sure that George is safe. And then what?

He tries not to think about it. He still doesn't look at George.

"It's going to be dark soon. Let's find a place to get you settled," Lee begins in a ragged voice, one exhausted but thick with emotion at the same time. "And I'll go look for doors. I'll get you out of here, okay? If it's the last thing I do."

Hell, maybe it will be.

"No," says George, quickly and convulsively, shaking his head. "I need to...I'm going with you. We'll find it together."

He's going to get through this without thinking about the yawning horror of what he saw and what it means about the man in front of him. He's going to get through this by pretending that it didn't happen until he's got time to think it through."

There's a very brief moment where Lee feels a small flicker of something a little like hope, but it's quickly snuffed out. Of course George doesn't want to be alone here. It doesn't mean that they'll be okay.

"Whatever you want," Lee says quietly, wiping at his face with the cuff of his sleeve, red-cheeked and warm all over despite the chill in the air. They walk side by side but not really, Lee is in the gutter and George is up on the sidewalk, and the feet between them feels like a desert that he has no hope of crossing.

They're headed toward home. Lee blinks at that, feeling his stomach twist. They're headed toward George's building. Lee gets the feeling that it isn't his home anymore.

By the time the building comes into view, the already dim gray sky has gone black and there are no stars, no streetlights, only the faint glow of the moon hidden behind thick clouds. That screeching sound rattles the trees and Lee reaches out for George on instinct, but pulls his hand back before it can make contact. "It's getting too dark to keep looking. I-- I'm sorry but we need to find a place to take cover until morning, I think."

George would be hard pressed to explain how violently he doesn't want that, right then. Not because of Lee -- not only because of that -- but because he desperately doesn't want to die in this place and the longer they spend here, the more likely it feels.

He nods, the gesture curt, as he looks around.

"The apartment," he says. "We can barricade ourselves in until daybreak. If there is such a thing in this godforsaken place."

Lee still won't look at George above the shoulders, but it's easy to see the way he goes rigid with tension. He doesn't want to do it, doesn't want to be trapped here with Lee, and-- well. Lee can't even blame him.

"I'm sorry," he says again, quietly, swallowing hard and moving forward to jog up to the lobby, looking through the glass door to make sure it's clear before pulling it open for George and keeping his head bowed, jaw clenched hard as he stares at the toes of his boots. They have blood on them. The same blood that's currently making Lee's cheeks burn with shame. "I'll keep my distance."

It's on the tip of his tongue to tell Lee that he doesn't have to, but he doesn't say it because, honestly, he doesn't know how he feels. Every time he looks at Lee, he sees him with blood on his mouth. He's hunted enough to know the look, to understand it.

He nods, walking past Lee. He ignores the elevator and takes the stairs. Relief floods through him when his key works in the kick and he finds the apartment mostly whole when he opens the door.

George doesn't say anything, walks right past Lee and starts going up the stairs, and Lee chokes back a strangled sort of noise before turning to follow. He stays half a flight away from George, looking down but keeping an ear out for any sounds. The whole building is eerily quiet, and once they're in the apartment Lee immediately does a sweep of the whole thing, checking closets and cupboards and the bathroom. The place is dusty and sort of abandoned, and it doesn't have their stuff. Lee's favorite cereal isn't on top of the fridge, and George's soft throw blanket isn't on the sofa. Everything looks somewhat generic. It doesn't look like home at all.

There's a large cabinet near the entryway and Lee shoves one shoulder against it, teeth gritting as he shoves it in front of the door. Once things are as secure as they can be and George is still just standing in the living room, Lee wrings his hands and opens his mouth, then closes it again and turns to walk into the bathroom and shut the door.

He doesn't have other clothes here that he knows off, so he strips off what he's wearing and quickly gets into the shower. The water is icy cold and Lee doesn't even bother trying to see if he can change it, letting it hit his skin like shards of glass as he scrubs the blood from his skin as fast as he can, tipping his head back to rinse out his mouth. There's a dusty old towel hanging from a hook and Lee gives himself a cursory pat down with it before pulling the shirt and sweats back on, leaving his feet bare. He still doesn't look in the mirror.

After taking a few deep breaths, he opens the door and takes a few steps back into the living room, arms curled around his chest. He's shivering after the cold shower, but he doesn't really notice.

"I know that I have no right," he begins shakily, looking down at the floor. George is somewhere nearby. Lee can smell him. "But can I please just have five minutes to explain?" There's a pleading edge to his voice, but he doesn't care. He'd drop to his knees if he thought it would make George listen. "Then I'll answer any questions or-- or I'll shut the fuck up. Whatever you want, just-- please."

George ends up sat at the table, his hands flat against the wooden surface. He listens to the sound of Lee moving around in the bathroom, the water running. When Lee speaks, he looks up. With his wet hair pushed back from his face, shivering, it's hard to see anything other than the person he loves. Loved? He's not sure about the tense, but, God, it feels more complicated than it did before.

"Talk," he says. "I'll listen."

George's voice is more terse than Lee is used to, but he allows him the chance to speak. Lee nods and clears his throat, stepping closer to the table but still too ashamed and afraid to look George in the face, let alone sit down across from him. He wrings his hands together, blinking past tears, and tries to decide how to start. At the beginning, he supposes.

"I don't know if I'm totally human," Lee gets out, and it's the first time he's ever said it out loud. And once he starts talking, he can't seem to stop. "All I know is that I was born like this. With this-- hunger. It started when I was a kid and my mom-- that's why she hated me. But-- but she's the one who had a kid with someone who--" He pauses and forces himself to take a breath. "I don't think she knew about my dad, but-- but it came from him. I didn't even know. I thought I was all alone in this, but then-- then he tried to eat me." He reaches up to rub his cold fingertips against the scar on his cheek. "So I killed him. For that and for everything else. For cursing me with this."

He wipes at his eyes and sniffles, wet hair spilling in his face as he stares at the kitchen floor. "I-- I tried to live by a code. I tried to make sure to only take people that the world would be better off without, and-- and I know that probably means me. And I tried that, too. I've stood at the tops of bridges and I'm always too much of a fucking coward to jump." He takes in another shuddering breath. "So I eat rapists and murderers and people who hurt kids and tell myself that's the only way, but I fucking hate it, George. I didn't ask for it. I don't want it. I-- I fucking hate myself and the blood in my veins and I hate what I have to do to survive. But if I don't eat, I'll die or I'll lose my mind."

He blinks and bites his lip, shaking so hard it's a wonder that he's still standing. "I tried. I really tried to go as long as I could, George. I didn't want to keep lying to you. But I was dying. I could feel myself dying and then there was all that blood and it just-- the choice wasn't mine anymore because I'm a fucking monster and I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry for not telling you, and I'm sorry that you had to see that. I'm sorry that I was too selfish to let you go when I felt myself getting too close."

Tears are streaming down his face now and he buries it in his hands, trying to take a breath as he leans back against the counter. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Edited 2025-10-22 20:26 (UTC)

Part of him wants to get up from the table and go to Lee, wants to kiss his forehead and wipe the tears from his face. Wants to tell him that none of it matters.

But he can't. Because it does. The truth of it yawns open like a chasm and he feels like he's teetering on the edge of it, and he can't see any way to reach the other side.

"I've lied and cheated," he says. "I did everything I could do send Somerset to the gallows. Why not me?"

Lee doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. The question makes him shake his head quickly. He looks up but jerks his gaze away before his vision can focus. He’s still being selfish, but he’s too scared to see how George is looking at him right now.

“Somerset was a dick and it sounds like he lied and cheated first,” Lee says after a long moment, jaw working thoughtfully as he stares at the kitchen cabinet. It’s the wrong shade of blue. “And you were doing what you needed to survive in a world designed to make you fail. I know what that’s like.”

He opens his mouth and closes it again, clutching at the countertop. “I knew from the night I met you that the world is a better place because you’re in it, George. I’ve never wavered on that. Not once.”

"Well, thank God for that," says George, his face gone hard for a moment. "You've had an awful lot of me in your fucking mouth."

He feels cruel the moment that is out in the air.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say here, Lee. It's... It's a lot to take in."

He can't stop picturing Lee with his face masked in blood.

The words are a gut punch and the color drains from his face, eyes closing hard as he nods. Whatever George has to say right now, Lee deserves. He deserves any bad thing that happens to him.

“I— I wouldn’t ever hurt you,” Lee says weakly, but it’s too late for that, isn’t it? He already has.

“I know. You don’t— I don’t expect you to be okay with it. Of course I don’t. I know this is o—“ He chokes up then, hanging his head dejectedly. “I just wanted you to know the truth. That I’m not— I’m not choosing to be like this.”

He doesn’t know what else to say and he feels a little sick, so he straightens up and turns away, wiping at his eyes.

“I thought it would be this casual thing, and you’d eventually get bored and forget all about me. But you kept just— not doing that,” Lee breathes out. “And you made me so happy so I kept letting it happen and then I was suddenly in so deep and I—“

He cuts himself off. George doesn’t need excuses.

“I’m sorry, George.” He sounds defeated even to his own ears. “I really am. It turns out that it’s kind of impossible not to fall in love with you.” He shrugs one shoulder. “And I got to know what it felt like to have you love me back for a little while. I’ll never forget it. But I’m still sorry. I’ll—“

He looks around helplessly, hissing between his teeth and pressing his palms to his eyes because he can’t even run away. So he leaves the kitchen and wanders over to a chair near the window, the one where he liked to curl up and read, and drops into it with a shuddering breath, turning his head to look out at the night sky.

Part of him, the part that's madly, deeply, never been in love like it before in love, wants to follow Lee, to drop down onto his knees next to Lee's chair, kiss his fingers, promise that there's a way through this and they'll find it. That part of him is selfish and stupid and doesn't want to lose what they have.

But there's also the part of him that can't forget how Lee had looked while he feels, the blood on his face and the hunch of his shoulders. How animal he'd looked. How monstrous.

And he doesn't know what to do. He's got no idea what to do.

Everything in the apartment is filmed with dust, and he doesn't like the idea of crawling into the bed that, in another world, he thinks of as theirs. He stays at the table, his head pillowed on his arms, and he drifts in and out of a fitful sleep.

Edited 2025-10-23 15:03 (UTC)

After Lee pours his heart out, the silence drags on and on. It eats away at him and he stays tense, waiting for George to say something, anything, but he doesn't. Eventually Lee hazards a look over his shoulder to see George's face buried in his arms at the table, and realizes that he isn't going to say anything at all. Lee said all of that, told him the truth and said how much he hates himself, how sorry he is, and the only thing he asked is why Lee didn't kill him. He knows he has no right to be disappointed, but even George yelling at him would have felt better than silence. It feels heavy and oppressive, like a stone slab being slid over a tomb.

He's never cried so much in his life. He doesn't make noise but the tears don't stop, and eventually his eyes are swollen and his head feels full of cotton. He feels a little like he might throw up, but he still forces himself up out of the chair quietly and heads to the linen closet. Things in there aren't so dusty, so he shakes out a blanket and lays it over George's shoulders where he's asleep at the table, careful not to touch any part of him.

Lee stands there for a long moment, staring at George's face, features soft with sleep, and it's like he can feel his heart being ripped apart right there in his chest. He lets out a shaky breath and reaches for the chain around his neck, the one with two keys giving him access to George that he no longer deserves, and probably never did. He lifts it over his head for the first time since he put it on and sets it on the table in front of George before going back to his chair and climbing into it, staring out the window and willing daylight to come faster.

When he wakes up, the two keys in their coil of chain are the first things that he sees. It's obvious what's happened, what Lee's done, and George just stares at them for a long time, his eyes stinging. Eventually, he sits up, shrugging the blanket from his shoulders, picking up the necklace and tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. He doesn't know how he feels about anything, right then, but he does know that it doesn't feel right to leave it behind.

He walks into the lounge area, looking down at Lee curled in the armchair.

"We ought to get moving," he says. "See if we can make it out of here in one piece."

If rings false in his ears, like they've already failed at that.

Lee doesn't sleep. He just feels himself grow more and more despondent as he stares at the window, to the point where he doesn't even move when he hears George get up from the table. He doesn't move when George speaks to him, because all he says is that he wants to get out of here, and away from Lee. And Lee has no argument.

He pulls himself out of the chair and says nothing, keeps his head bowed and doesn't look at George as he passes by him to stuff his feet into his boots. The sweatshirt he was wearing is covered in blood so he just leaves it in the bathroom, too out of it to even realize how much he's shivering. It feels like he's moving on autopilot as he pulls open the apartment door and steps out of it, knife in one hand as he looks down the hall.

"Jesus Christ, you'll catch a fucking chill," snaps George, shrugging out of the jacket that he'd picked up at the surplus store. It's got blood on it, dried crusted and dark, but not much, and it's better than nothing. "Put this one. Now."

Everything he feels when he looks at Lee is complicated. He just needs to get somewhere quiet so he can think about it. They both just need to get out of here. They both just need to get home.

Lee flinches when George yells, suddenly feeling like he's right back to walking on eggshells in his childhood home. He blinks and then looks down at the jacket like he's confused by it, but doesn't argue. He just takes it and puts it on, blinking out a fresh set of tears when he realizes that it already smells like George.

He still doesn't look George in the eye, and he can't seem to get his throat to work. It feels like he's shutting down, like each step is harder to take than the last, but he manages to make it to the stairwell and trudge his way down, not stopping until he's in the lobby. The sky outside is cold and gray, and somehow Lee knows that it isn't going to take them very long to find a way out of here. The damage has already been done.

It occurs to him that he should probably just stay here, in this land of monsters. Maybe it's where he belongs.

It occurs to him then that he might have to bodily drag Lee out of this hellscape. He's never seen him act like this, like he's barely functioning. George's head is all noise but that doesn't mean he's got any intention of leaving Lee here to die. There's no way on earth that he could let that happen. Last night, Lee has talked about killing himself and George had been too angry, too wrapped in himself, to say anything about it. But he'd heard it, all the same.

"Come on," he says, wrapping his arm around Lee's bicep, to keep him upright and to keep him moving and everything. "You don't get to die here, Lee. We're both getting out."

George grabs his arm and Lee blinks, staring down at his hand as he's all but dragged out into the street.

"Why?" He says once they're out on the sidewalk, voice low and rasping. Even through the jacket, George's hand feels like it's burning and he wonders if this will be the last time they ever touch. "This is probably where I should be."

He swallows hard and looks up the street, anywhere but at George's face. "I don't belong anywhere."

"Shut the fuck up," says George, but there's a soft, almost plaintive note to his voice because, angry as he is, he hates to hear Lee talk like that. "I don't know what I want, and I don't know what I think, but I don't want you dead, Lee. I can't bear the fucking thought of it." A muscle in his jaw ticks. "So keep moving." He squeezes Lee's arm. "How sick you were. That was because you hadn't..." He falters. "It had been too long?"

Well, that's something. It makes him feel like his heart has been dropkicked, but at least it's beating.

"Then I won't die," Lee says, because it's in his nature to do his best to give George whatever he wants. They walk together, with George still holding onto his arm, and Lee tries his best not to lean into that small flicker of hope. George doesn't want him dead. That doesn't mean he wants anything else.

"Yes," Lee replies simply, because he's not going to lie to George anymore. He's not going to dance around it or evade the truth. There's no point in it anymore. "I tried very hard to be good. But I'm not."

it makes sense, now -- the times that Lee looked him in the face and asked him if he was bad. At the time, George hadn't hesitated but, now, he can see how it would feel more complicated. Lee had said that he understood that George had done the things he'd done to survive.

Did that make them so different.

"It would have killed you," he says. "And I wouldn't even have known."

"Or I would have snapped and hurt someone who wasn't trying to attack my--" He cuts himself off and presses his lips into a thin line because he has no idea what George is to him anymore. "I don't know what would have happened. I had never made it that long before."

He clears his throat as they walk, letting his gaze sweep around the area to look for any signs of a door. He still does not look at George. "I-- I was going to tell you. I realized that ignoring it wasn't working and that I couldn't fight it, so I was going to tell you. I had decided, but just didn't know how." He shrugs and wrinkles his nose. "But that was taken from me, too."

They keep walking, and he blows out another breath. "I felt guilty every time I looked at you but I knew that you wouldn't-- I didn't want to lose you. I was scared and selfish, and I really am sorry." He opens and closes his mouth a few times, sniffling as yet another set of hot tears roll down his face. He has no idea how there's still moisture in his body. His eyes feel like someone has taken sandpaper to them. "You were never in any danger with me, George. I-- I know you probably don't believe me, but I promise you that it's the truth. I can usually control it just fine, but it had been too long and everything happening was too much."